


The Road Ahead

by OrangeBlossoms



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Flirting, Fluff, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 05:56:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15113216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrangeBlossoms/pseuds/OrangeBlossoms
Summary: The future is bright as the sun sets on the last battlefield.





	The Road Ahead

The clouds clear from the horizon and the setting sun bathes the world in an orange glow. Echoes of an anguished cry of defeat fade as they leave the carcass behind, gray and broken on lifeless earth, its impact crushing the ground beneath. Her horse had shuffled nervously in place during the aftershocks, ears swiveling at the furious screeching. The loathsome form deserves no further consideration and she turns away, scanning the crowd for a face. 

Tentative cheers lower into confused murmurs as the Exalt returns with a shadowed visage. His stance straightens as he rallies and even at a distance in the dimming light she recognizes the signs of Lissa coaxing a smile from her brother. 

Surely they will find their tactician. He must be out there. Somewhere. Naga wouldn’t mislead them with false hope. 

She says her part, as they all do, before the congregation separates and she sets out in the direction of a voice soft enough to have been nearly overshadowed by the rest. The next moments are a blur as she dismounts, hastily wiping at an eye as she walks purposefully towards her aim.

“Oh, my darling! You’re alright!” she says, eyes shining.

The greeting lacks her usual levels of grace and restraint as she almost breaks into a run—her! trotting like an unseasoned trainee on an errand!—the final distance to where Olivia is holding a conversation with Stahl. 

They both had several precarious encounters on the field and she only wants to reassure herself that Olivia has returned to her all in one piece. Lucky for the both of them, Olivia’s balance remains steady even as she half-jumps into her arms. 

“Maribelle?” 

Stahl waves farewell before seeking out his wife and Olivia offers some parting words for the both of them, the specifics of which are lost on her though she notes the tenor of the amicable departure. She still has enough sense to grant her own well wishes—even if her distracted delivery leaves much to be desired. 

“I couldn’t let you walk back alone!” she says, pulling away to evaluate her condition. The new focus centers her again, her training taking over in place of weak knees and a sudden urge to repeat herself in confirmation.

_You’re alright!_

A shallow cut crosses the side of Olivia’s arm just below the shoulder. It shines with residue from a recently applied concoction. Her outfit has sustained its own damage, but nothing that can’t be repaired or replaced. Maribelle had remained enclosed behind front lines, rallying her comrades for luck, for might, for protection, healing and casting when necessary.

Olivia shivers slightly as a breeze hits them. Her braids have partially come undone, loose strands trailing in the wind. 

“I have just the thing.”

Maribelle wastes no time in addressing the chill. Her hand slides into Olivia’s and she guides her over uneven ground the short distance to her mount. Under other circumstances, Olivia might have teased her over her excessive concern, but the silence settles comfortably between them as she presses her fingers into a warm palm, Olivia giving a comforting squeeze in return. 

She rifles through a saddlebag and pulls out a cloak and some bandages, lifting Olivia’s hair as Olivia’s hands raise to assist her with her task. First she attends to the wound before quickly following up with the garment. Maribelle fastens a clasp at her throat and sighs, a tired smile tugging at her lips. 

The battle lasted mere hours—an unsettling contrast to other campaigns that spanned weeks or months. Olivia reflexively brings a hand to her mouth as she yawns, offering a muffled apology as Maribelle waves away the sentiment. 

“You were positively heroic,” she declares as she gathers Olivia up for another embrace, this one milder than the first. “All of you on the front lines.” A somber thought settles over them as she pulls back to look at her, gloved hands now smoothing down her shoulders and resting on her upper arms. “I’m sorry about Robin. You were… are friends, correct?” she asks, tightening her hold. 

She hasn’t forgotten the Exalt’s vow to locate their missing companion. Nor her own promise to serve him tea upon his safe return. He had called her friend as well and she silently promises to provide her own assistance in his retrieval through some means or another.

Olivia nods, head suddenly propped against her shoulder as she leans forward. 

“I know we’ll see each other again,” she whispers. 

“Precisely! We cannot abandon faith, darling. Certainly not in our hour of triumph. It’s not what he would want.” 

Some understanding beyond her own suggests that believing in the eventual reunion is an important piece of this unspoken summoning rite. She quells her own uncertainties and Olivia rewards her with a smile as she pulls away, head cocked slightly to the side and hair angling downward in rose-colored rivulets that reflect the golden twilight.

“You’re right,” Olivia says as a nearby set of knights ambles past. They stand idly a moment longer, frozen in the boundary between what could have been and what will be as the army collects itself to move out. Mages summon guidelights as the sun sinks below the horizon, the assemblage of glowing orbs bobbing in the dying light like a procession of spirits. Raucous laughter from Vaike breaks them from the trance. Olivia returns to the present first. “We should get going.”

“Would you care to join me?”

Camp isn’t far or she’d spare her horse the additional weight. A flash of relief crosses Olivia’s face and a new wave of fatigue overcomes her as the reminder of the extended battle hits. Perhaps they won’t make it to the baths after all. As much as it pains Maribelle to think of spending another night grimy from their efforts in the field, the call to rest is stronger yet. 

Once they get situated with Maribelle at the reins, they begin their own relaxed return. Exhaustion is no excuse for poor posture, but she doesn’t object when Olivia leans into her back with a sigh.

“Anything the matter, darling?”

“Mm-mm,” she says, her response accompanied by the clinking of her various adornments as she shakes her head. 

Rarely does Olivia sing in the presence of mere acquaintances, but an old battle ballad joins in with the steady hoofbeats and the persistent creak of wheels from a nearby supply cart.

_Rejoice! Praise Naga for victory_

Olivia murmurs the lyrics in muted tones that end in a chuckle. 

“Hmm, maybe something else today,” Olivia says with another yawn, the gentle nature of her voice like a balm on Maribelle’s tired frame. Soft humming resounds where they touch as Olivia begins a song anew.

 _A fair young noble courted me_  
_She won my heart when I served tea_  
_We went to town to woo some men_  
_In truth she caught my fancy then_

The words are improvised, but the tune is vaguely recognizable. Perhaps something sung in bawdy tones around a bonfire, outside of Sir Frederick’s earshot, and most likely music meant for alehouses with sticky tables and stale air. Olivia delights in small, teasing gestures and while Maribelle has a discomforting history with mockery, Olivia balances humor and tenderness in ways that cause her to flush at the attention. 

“Oh, hush!” she whispers, blindly swatting at her companion whose muffled laughter confirms the jest. “You may serenade me with the rest later.” 

Perhaps by then she will have devised a fitting rejoinder of her own.

“It would be my pleasure, milady,” she says before erupting into another bout of giggling, nearly wheezing into her shoulder blade. The fatigue is hitting harder than she had initially assumed. They’ve both lost their grasp on reality after hours in a sun-starved sky filled with the growls of thunder.

“Yes, well, you shall have to write it down for a performance in the Great Hall when we arrive in Ylisstol,” she remarks dryly. 

The merriment ceases abruptly and she worries she may have gone too far with her part in the act.

“You’ll return to Themis then?” Olivia asks after a pause, arms tightening around her waist. Her dancer’s rings clink in time with the horse’s gait, the connecting fabric torn during battle.

Maribelle glances back to see a hand adjust the borrowed riding cloak on her shoulders, but it’s too odd an angle to observe much else. 

“I will have to return eventually,” she says as she settles against her. They all plod onward and she rests a palm over the two hands clasped against her front. “It doesn’t have to be alone.”

Olivia pulls back, but maintains her hold.

“I um—“ she starts, nearly choking on her words. Maribelle decides to take the lead from there.

“I’ve made up my mind. You are aware of my feelings on the matter. You are free to do as you please even—even if we must part ways. I’m willing to fight any naysayers should it come to that, my dear, but it might not be necessary.”

She understands how much she asks and she has come to terms with the possibility that it might be too much. 

“No, I—I’ve thought about it a lot, too! I want to go with you. To Ylisstol or Themis or anywhere else!”

Olivia’s cheek rubs against her own and while neither are keen on the attention garnered from public displays of affection, Maribelle doesn’t hesitate to bring one of the hands at her waist to her lips. She will express her appreciation properly when they are back on their feet. 

“And it’s not all about me and what I want. You will have my unwavering—ah!”

Without warning, Olivia has seized her close and she loosens the handhold, continuing to grasp the leather of the reins more out of habit than conscious decision. 

“I know,” she says, burying her face in Maribelle’s curls. At one point Maribelle might have put up a fuss over such close contact in her current state—somewhere between neglectfully unkempt and regrettably bedraggled—, but Naga’s blessings have their limits, so she cherishes the proximity with the understanding that the battle could have all gone differently. “And I’ll be so happy to make plans with you, but maybe that can wait for the ride home?” 

“Excellent suggestion. Neither of us are in any condition to discuss specifics,” she concedes before attempting to organize her thoughts for what she wishes to communicate next. “I, well, I know we have talked about potential future plans, but words cannot express how heartened I am to know you will accompany me.”

“Oh, Maribelle. I can’t say that I’m not nervous, but I know it’s what I want. If you’ll have me.”

“None of that ‘If you’ll have me’ business! Who wouldn’t?! You’re utterly charming, breathtakingly beautiful, and a composer of terribly silly verses—that last one’s new,” she says, certain Olivia can hear the smile in her voice. 

Olivia still has difficulty accepting compliments and the humor works as a mediating factor for the full force of her affections. In place of what once would have been a stammered series of denials, her companion hums fondly as she links a hand with one of Maribelle’s, Olivia’s fingers fitting snugly between her own. 

The road winds onward and they settle into another pleasant silence. Every so often Olivia leans forward before jolting back. 

“Almost there,” Maribelle murmurs, a yawn of her own escaping. The worry and energy from fighting has worn off leaving her thoughts to wander. “Someday I shall teach you how to ride and when we travel you will have your own horse.” 

“Mm sounds nice,” Olivia mumbles, fully leaning against her.

“Yes, I think so as well.”

“Is there dancing in Themis?” she asks and Maribelle has to think for a moment what exactly she might mean by the question.

“There is dancing anywhere, should you wish it. You shall always have a partner.”

“Robin was going to help me build a theater,” she says quietly as if sharing a secret. “Do you even think… do you think there would be an audience?”

On impulse, she nearly offers Olivia her own patronage to assuage her concerns, but the crass nature of the response causes her to bite her tongue. Before the silence grows uneasy, she tries another tact. 

“I believe the world will be all the better for your dancing, if that is what this is about. As for our wayward tactician, what better surprise than to begin researching as soon as we arrive in the capital? No sense in remaining idle while he is away. He’s not the only planner in the army.”

“You’re right. Miriel is an excellent—eep!”

She reaches back to run fingers under the cloak along exposed skin just lightly enough to tease. Olivia laughs as she retracts her hand. 

“What were you saying again, darling?” she says with her primmest affectation. 

“That if you tickle me, we are both falling off this horse together,” Olivia says, breathless from her outburst.

“I would never!” she exclaims with mock indignation before settling into a more staid tone. “Nonetheless, your concern is duly noted. In all seriousness, you merely have to ask. I’m at your service and I hope you know such an offer isn’t made lightly. I have my aspirations, but there’s little harm in continuing to work on them in parallel with some other venture.”

“Your studies.”

They don’t often discuss the topic in detail despite Olivia keeping her company during many an evening. She ensures Maribelle makes it to bed in some manner even if it isn’t always a timely one (her own fault). Over the past several weeks, however, the reality that their battles were narrowing in on a final critical confrontation became increasingly apparent. She had spent nights admiring Olivia’s practice sessions, her manuscripts abandoned as the living, breathing present temporarily usurped plans for an uncertain future. 

“It won’t be easy,” she admits, lips pursed as she fends off the temptation to think of ways to make up for lost time.

“If anyone can do it, love, it’s you,” Olivia says, warm and sweet.

Her face colors at both the affectionate name and the reassurance.

“I’m grateful for your support,” she says, smile growing into something less than dignified until she’s beaming. For the first time since Grima’s defeat, the potential of all that is to come expands before her as they wind their way to the final stretch into camp. Sleep will come easy, and the wheres and whens of what comes next can be dealt with after they have a chance to rest, content in the knowledge that it won’t be undertaken alone.

**Author's Note:**

> I took a bit of a break from writing (and reading because then I felt guilty I wasn't writing :') ), but getting back into it. Thank you to [engineDriver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/engineDriver) and L for kindly offering to read over parts of this for me. Wanted to post *something* (fluffy) during Pride month. Thanks for reading!<3 Please consider this ship! Their support chain is fairly entertaining, too.


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